


A Slight Detail

by PumpkinDoodles



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Darcy Lewis is the Lucy Ricardo of the MCU, F/M, Zoom calls, the butterbean, they met in quarantine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:21:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23889652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: Stuck in quarantine and recently dumped, Darcy Lewis really doesn't want this assignment. But Jane has promised her extra Reese's minis if she'll just be the one who zoom calls Dr. Stephen Strange to discuss their SHIELD portal project.Which is fine. Darcy can handle a second terrible British dude, no problem.Things just get complicated after Darcy omits one, tiny, tiny life detail: she's six months pregnant.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Stephen Strange
Comments: 142
Kudos: 608
Collections: Marvel Must-Reads





	1. MMhello?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Faceworthy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faceworthy/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“You have to do it,” Jane said. Her voice was grim. “I can’t. You know how I feel about Asshat Strange. I absolutely cannot deal with him in quarantine. I don’t care if SHIELD wants us to work together,” she told Darcy. 

“Me? Me?” Darcy said, wanting to throw her hands up in frustration. There were lots of things for Darcy to feel pissy about lately. The first was obvious. “I’m pregnant!” she said. “You’re making the pregnant lady deal with the difficult research partner? Isn’t that an OSHA violation?”

“He’ll probably be nice to you because you’re pregnant,” Jane said, making a face. “He’s sexist. He thinks women belong barefoot and pregnant. Probably. Have I mentioned that he was rude to me at a conference when I was in grad school?”

“Yes,” Darcy said. “Many times. So many times.”

“And it’s zoom conferencing, so he won’t be in your space, thank God,” Jane said, clearly shifting into the bargaining stage of things. “I’ll buy you two peoples’ worth of Reese’s?”

“You’re doing that already,” Darcy said. She sighed. “But fine, I’ll deal with him, your cousin the lawyer is dealing with Ian for free, so I do owe you one schmuck.” Not only were they in quarantine, Darcy and Ian had recently split up. That was putting it politely: Darcy had discovered she was pregnant and then Ian had had a full-blown panic attack, asked her “what she planned to do about _it?”_ and promptly faffed off to merry ol’ England when she threw a shoe at him in response. So, clearly, the answer to his question was ‘raise this baby alone’ and get Jane’s cousin who went to Yale Law to pursue one ridiculous man for a scintilla of child support. That had been a few months ago. She was currently six months pregnant and felt alternatively queasy, hungry, and irritated. This situation was not helping. 

“Okay,” Jane said, looking relieved.

“Try not to look so pleased with yourself,” Darcy said. “Or I’ll name the baby Strange.”

“My niece will not be called Strange Lewis!” Jane said, horrified. Darcy grinned.

“Plenty of people have called me Strange Lewis,” Darcy said. “Tony Stark, last summer, when I said his AC/DC wasn’t rocking, for example. Maybe it is the perfect baby name--”

“No, no, no,” Jane said.

* * *

Darcy waited for the zoom call to connect with Strange, tapping her foot. She’d been eating Reese’s miniatures all day, between bouts of morning sickness. Puke, Reese’s, puke, Reese’s. She had one in her mouth when Strange’s face filled her screen. “Mmmhello,” Darcy said, chewing and waving.

“Dr. Foster?” the man said, leaning in so closely that his nostrils filled the screen. He had blue eyes. Those were fine. But his goatee? Terrible. She thought she spotted an actual cookie crumb. Darcy swallowed a third of a Reese’s and tried not to choke. He was already frowning. Also, he had a British accent. At this point in the preg-o game, that was positively triggering. 

“No, I’m her assistant, Darcy Lewis,” she said, straightening up and trying to pretend this wasn’t just her couch. “I’m running point on this project. Jane has several.” This was, technically, a lie. Jane was hiding on the other side of the living room, not visible in Darcy’s laptop camera. Jane was a chicken. 

“Oh, all right,” Strange said, in a deceptively placid voice.

“It was in your last series of emails,” Darcy said, making sure he knew she’d busted him.

“Oh, drat,” he said. “I’m afraid I was unavoidably detained on some business for a museum--rather, uh, dangerous artifact work. I am sorry to have missed it.”

“That’s all right,” Darcy said, with as much Grace Kelly iciness as she could muster. Typical, she thought. Snotty, oblivious British dudes. She brought up her talking points from Jane.

They discussed the portal project. Strange had ideas. He was positively brimming with ideas. Jane was going to hate all of them. She was making faces as his voice filtered across the room, cheerfully going on. Darcy tried not to giggle. They were debating a scientific point when there was a bang behind Strange, like pots being conked together. 

“Excuse me,” he said. There were more odd noises from his side of the call as he got up and came back. Darcy thought it was either a cat or a small child. He didn’t seem like a cat person. 

“Kids or cats?” she offered, when he returned, apologizing stiffly.

“Something like that,” he said, looking amused. “He--I’ve decided it’s a he--is more of a ward of mine than strictly a possession, at this point. Tends to knock things over or make a lot of noise, absent proper supervision.” Cat then, she decided. “Do you have one?” he asked.

“Cats or kids?” Darcy said, smiling in spite of herself.

“Either one,” he said, seeming genuinely curious.

“Uhhhh--” Darcy said. Should she disclose that she was pregnant? He might be the type to question her commitment to the work, if he knew. Make a fuss with Jane. Some men were like that. And Jane would be difficult. “No kids in the house yet,” she said. Technically, true, right? “I’ve traveled with Jane so much, I haven’t settled down enough for pets, either.”

“It can be very difficult when you’re in this line of work,” Strange said, sounding oddly wistful. “I’m afraid I’ve never married,” he added.

“I’m...sorry?” Darcy said. She was honestly perplexed about what to say, so as not to seem rude. “I’ve just gone through a really bad breakup, so even the word marriage makes me have hives.”

“There is that,” Strange said, grinning. His smile changed his whole face. 

* * *

  
  


“Jane,” Darcy said sternly, when the call ended. “You forgot to mention that Strange is British?” Jane looked up, an expression of surprise on her face.

“I did?” she said, sounding exactly like Steve Urkel, had he been a tiny, determined, Thor-adoring astrophysicist.

“Don’t play innocent with me,” Darcy said. “You know how I feel about British dudes right now.”

“You used to like them,” Jane said. “A lot.”

“Never again,” Darcy said. “I’m going to send Dr. Strange and Ian on their merry ways.” She mock-raised her fist like Jane Fonda in that mug shot. “And then I’m going to be a badass single mom, you got that?”

“Are you talking to me or the Butterbean?” Jane asked. That was their nickname for the baby.

“It was a general talking-to,” Darcy said. “General audience.” As soon as she said the words, she belched a little. Pregnancy acid reflux. “Pffhht, no talking back, Butterbean,” she told the baby. She looked at Jane. “And I can’t believe you didn’t mention his terrible goatee! This is crucial joke fodder, Janeybug!” 

“He has a goatee? He didn’t have a goatee when I met him, just an attitude,” Jane said, clearly still holding a grudge.

“He looks like Vincent Price,” Darcy said. “Did you want a screenshot?”

“Yes, please!” Jane said, lighting up. She smiled wickedly at her own laptop. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: I always make Strange a British expat in my AUs. The accent's too good to lose. This story is for Faceworthy, who wanted more Darcy/Strange.
> 
> Also, the plot is based on a lovely tumblr post about a woman who hid her pregnancy/baby from a tele-coworker from @ibelieveinturtles, who suggested it as a classic Darcy move: https://glompcat.tumblr.com/post/615627753689169920/this-question-and-its-answer-from-the-new-york


	2. What's In A Name?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

Working with Strange nearly daily was easier than Darcy anticipated. Other than Jane’s grumpy commentary about his ideas, Strange himself didn’t give her any problems over the next week of quarantine. He was polite, friendly, and they even had pleasant conversations around their science theorizing. Which was good. Because Ian--apparently, running amok in Scotland--was dodging her attempts at contact. She dialed the international number a fourth time that day. Yet again, Ian didn’t answer. “You’re a total schmuck,” she said at the phone. After she’d hung up. She had instructions from Jane’s cousin the lawyer not to say anything inflammatory or exacerbate the situation. She was a little pissed that she couldn’t be pissed. “Sorry, Butterbean, your daddy’s a real asshole,” she sighed out and got up to make decaf coffee before their conference call. Her morning sickness had been awful. Jane had burned the toast this morning. She meant well. She was trying to let Darcy sleep in. Instead, Darcy had bolted out of bed at the first whiff of blackened toast and yorked her guts out in the bathroom. “Decaf, decaf,” she muttered, carefully avoiding getting too near the trash cans. Trash cans were her kryptonite these days. She’d settled back down with the full mug when her laptop made the incoming conference call sound. “Hey!” Darcy said, when Strange’s face came into view. “You’re right on time.”

“My mother always said it was rude to be either too late or too early,” Strange said. Darcy was finally used to his plummy, fancypants British accent---at least enough not to cringe. 

“Really?” she said, shifting in her chair. She always positioned the camera so he could see her face, but not her belly. The tiny double chin she was rocking couldn't be helped, but she could always joke about quarantine snacking.

“Your mother didn’t?” he said.

“Actually, no. She’s a chronically late person,” Darcy said. “Very much by the seat of her pants. She pulls it off, though.”

“Oh,” he said awkwardly.

“She did have one good piece of advice.”

“Yes?” he said politely.

“My mother always said ‘marry a man who whose mother is dead’,” Darcy joked wryly. For a second, Strange sputtered, then actually laughed. His whole face changed. 

“That--that is an excellent joke,” he said.

“Who said I was kidding?” Darcy said, making sure her expression was serious. “That’s completely my intention. I’m marrying a man whose mom has already kicked it.” She definitely wasn’t marrying Ian, she thought. His mother was horrible. Called Darcy by the wrong name on purpose. Who was even named Darvy--

“Oh, well, I guess that rules me out,” Strange said. 

“Hmm?” she said, confused by his non sequiter. He cleared his throat. 

“As my mother remains alive and has not, as you put it so colorfully in America, kicked the bucket,” he said. 

“Oh!” she said, laughing. He smiled. “Why is it a bucket?” Darcy wondered aloud.

“You know, I don’t precisely know,” he said. From across the room, Darcy heard Jane huff. She glanced up. The scientist was rolling her eyes. It was difficult not to giggle.

“I’ll have to look it up,” she said. “In the meantime, I guess we should get to work?”

“Oh, well, if we must,” Strange said, in a light voice. He smiled, then sorted through his paperwork. “I jotted down some notes on Foster’s math…” he began, unaware that Jane was listening.

“Wonderful, I love when you check the math,” Darcy said, feeling slightly wicked.

“Do you?” 

“Because that means I don’t have to pretend that I did,” she said, ignoring the irritated expression on Jane’s face. He laughed one of his oddly spontaneous laughs again.

“He’s totally hitting on you,” Jane said, after they’d ended their video chat.

“What?” Darcy said. “Ridiculous! I’m pregnant, remember? Do snotty surgeons normally pick up preggo ladies?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jane said, momentarily deflating. “Probably not.” She scrunched her face. “He probably thinks he’s too good to date a woman who is a single mom.”

“Exactly,” Darcy said, ignoring the weird feeling in her stomach. Would people think that way about her and the baby? Judge them? Because Ian was an ass? It seemed completely, terrifically wrong. The nagging thought was enough make her feel a little queasy. “I’m just lucky I haven’t puked on video chat,” she added. She tried to quash the unease she felt with the method that worked best for her current moods and nausea issues. “I’m going to have a Pop-Tart. Want to split a pack?” she offered Jane. 

“Yes,” Jane said. 

In the kitchen, Darcy stuck the Pop Tarts in their toaster, Pop Up Vinny, then leaned against the counter and sighed. She had a big ol’ baby belly, swollen feet, and a flaky co-parent. And somehow, she was the one who was trashy? “Bullshit,” she muttered. “Totally sexist bullshit.”

All the more reason not to tell anybody else about the Butterbean. Like Strange.

* * *

“Audrey?” she called out to Jane. Darcy had been listing out potential baby names to Jane all morning before her next Strange video chat. She had a book and a permanent tab for Nameberry. With Ian AWOL, she decided to chose the name she liked, anyway. It helped pass the time, too. 

“That’s pretty,” Jane said. The Butterbean was definitively a girl. She’d found out at a pre-quarantine ultrasound. 

“But is it too stuffy-sounding?” Darcy asked.

“No, it’s classic,” Jane said. “Good associations. Audrey Hepburn! Put it on the second list.”

“That’s true,” Darcy said. She had a three-part list: family names, more conventional names, and more daring ones. She sighed.

“What?” Jane said.

“I don’t want to saddle my fatherless kid with a bad name,” she said. “How do you make sure your kid has a cool name?” She felt her eyes well with tears. Stupid hormones.

“Honey,” Jane said, coming over to hug her. “It’ll be okay.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said, sniffling. 

“I should have fired him when I had the chance,” Jane said.

“You couldn’t have fired Ian,” Darcy said, smiling. “He was my intern--and neither of us were getting paid.” She dissolved into giggles. 

“Damn,” Jane said. “There goes my plan.” Darcy’s laptop beeped, the signal that Strange was calling.

“Shit,” Darcy said. 

“Lemme look,” Jane said, taking the baby name book back across the room.

“I know you’re just hiding from him,” she called, then turned on her end of the call. “Hello,” she said, as Strange’s nose appeared.

“Hi,” he said, leaning back. The whole side of his face was puffy and bruised.

“What happened?” Darcy said.

“Unfortunate collision with a magical obj--are you all right? You look as though you’ve been crying?” he said, looking concerned. 

“Um, I just had a little quarantine breakdown,” Darcy said. “What about your mag--” There was a bang behind him.

“Bloody hell,” Strange said. “Please hold on.” He stood up and moved out of frame. There was a series of clangs and clattering noises, like someone had thrown a drum set down a staircase.

“What the hell?” Jane said, hearing the commotion. Darcy had her eyes glued to the screen.

“Come look,” Darcy said, waving her over. She could see a fragment of movement just at the edge of the screen. “Is that--oh my God!” There was a suit of armor fighting with Strange in the hallway.

“Is he wearing a cape?” Jane said.

“He doesn’t normally dress like that,” Darcy whispered. The crashing sounds were random and noisy. Also, Strange was making little swirly things with his hands. That was cool. “Don’t those look like sparklers when you twirl them?” she said to Jane. 

“He changed clothes to fight with--whatever that is?” she replied. Strange was wearing a red cape and weird clothes. 

“Why not?” Darcy asked. “Thor did. Remember your face when you saw him in the cape? Oh my God, the drooling!” she said, pointing gleefully at the scientist.

"I did not!" Jane said.

"Lies, all lies," Darcy sassed. "I was there!"

“Argghhhh,” Strange yelled distantly. They couldn’t see him any longer. It sounded like he was losing the fight. “A little help!” he said.

“Should we phone someone?” Darcy yelled, leaning into the laptop speaker. “Iron Man?”

“The WD-40 people?” Jane snarked. The suit sounded creaky.

“Don’t be petty,” Darcy whispered.

A moment later, a wild-haired and caped Strange sat down in front of the camera. “I’m very sorry,” he said. “That was the magical object in question.”

“I didn’t know who to call,” Darcy said. She was staring at the odd outfit he was wearing: some sort of blue tunic that reminded her of fancy medieval cosplayers, a Thor-like red cloak, and a necklace with a big green stone. Was that actually an emerald? If not, it could double as a paperweight. The thing was huge. 

“Pardon?” he said.

“You called for help,” Jane said, leaning into frame.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “I was talking to the Cloak of Levitation.”

“The what?” Jane said. 

“My, uh--” he said, before the corner of the cloak rose on its own and waved at them. “I try to wear my normal clothes when I consult on, uh, regular matters,” he added, looking self-conscious.

“It waved,” Jane said.

“Hi!” Darcy said, waving back. “Does it have a first name?” she asked Strange.

“It’s just the Cloak of Levitation,” he said stiffly.

“It needs a name,” Darcy said. 

“She loves naming things,” Jane said.

“You do?” he said.

“She named our toaster,” Jane said.

“Pop Up Vinny,” Darcy said. “Jane, where’d you put my name book?”

“I’m sorry, your toaster is called Pop Up Vinny?” he said.

“Yeah,” Darcy said. The cloak waved at her more enthusiastically. “Awwww, look!” she said.


	3. Stephen Is Fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing! This is just a silly, fluffy chapter that advances no plot, lol.

“Geoffrey with a g!” Darcy said, belching and endeavoring to hide it. She covered her mouth quickly. “Sorry,” she added. She was burping more these days, along with the nausea. Stephen Strange was looking at her with a puzzled expression from her laptop screen.

“Geoffrey?” he repeated, squinting.

“You don’t like it?” Darcy said, unwrapping a mini candy bar. The wrapper crinkled. They weren’t even discussing science. Jane--who had moved into her full blown quarantine irritability phase--had fallen asleep on the couch and Darcy was not going to wake her. Definitely not. Hopefully, she would sleep for hours.

“Uh, it’s not that I don’t like it, it’s just that the Cloak of Levitation doesn’t seem like a Geoffrey,” Strange said.

“Oh,” Darcy said. “What does he”--the cloak had indicated it preferred masculine pronouns after they held up a sheet of options--”seem like to you?” she wondered out loud, chewing her tiny Twix square. Thank God she could have candy delivered, Darcy thought. Lack of steady access to the library and missing several (“very important, very key”--Jane’s words) conferences was making Darcy’s work-life balance, well, unbalanced. That and her belly. The Butterbean was growing like crazy. Darcy’s feet were swollen and she had low back pain 24/7.

“I, uh--I--” Strange said, looking between her and the cloak. “I’m not sure?”

“Okey dokey,” Darcy said. “Awwwww. He’s sad!” The cloak had drooped a little. “C’mon on, Stephen, we’ve got to give him a name!” she said.

“Oh,” he said. He paused. “All right.” The cloak waggled excitedly.

“Oh what?” Darcy said, catching the shift in his expression.

“You’ve, uh, never called me Stephen before,” he said, looking stiff. He was actually blushing, she realized. It was kinda cute. That prompted her to tease him.

“Did you prefer Dr. Steve?” she said. “I can’t just call you Steve, that’s Captain America.”

“Stephen is fine,” he said in a funny voice. Darcy started to giggle. “What?” he said, frowning.

“It’s a meme, you reminded me of Ina Garten just then,” he said.

“The cooking woman?” he said, looking baffled.

“Yes! She always says ‘store bought is fine’ and--oh--oh! She has a  _ Jeffrey,”  _ Darcy said, giving in to full laughter. He stared at her.

“She has a Jeffrey,” he repeated. “You’re laughing about  _ The Barefoot Contessa?” _

“That name! It’s such a bizarre choice for a food store or a cooking show,” Darcy mused. “I just watched that movie, it’s very dark.”

“Yes,” he said. “I’ve seen it. Ava Gardner.”

“We watched it this week. It’s based on Rita Hayworth’s life--allegedly. Except she didn’t marry a count, she married the Aga Khan,” Darcy said. “What even is an Aga Khan?”

“I have no idea,” he said. The cloak poked at his shoulder. “I’m afraid we’ve strayed from the cloak’s name.”

“You’d think the Sorcerer Supreme would know the Aga Khan,” Darcy said drily. Stephen groaned. He’d confided that he felt the title was awkward. “Or at least the price of toppings at Pizza Hut,” she added, feeling wicked. She’d figured out that Strange didn’t actually mind jokes. He pretended to be aggrieved, but he smiled more. She kept catching him smiling, before he re-schooled his expression into something more stiff and reserved. “The Sorcerer Supreme!” she trilled. “$9.99!”

“Oh dear God,” Stephen said, covering his face. “I did go to medical school.”

“The cloak hates when you say that,” she told him.

“The cloak doesn’t talk,” he said, voice warm behind his hands.

“We communicate via gesture,” she sassed back. The cloak wiggled enthusiastically. Stephen looked from it to the laptop screen and smiled up at her.

“Do you actually prefer Geoffrey?” he said, voice arch.

“Are you asking me or him?” Darcy asked, as the cloak nodded. “Oh, wait, that’s a no, right? I think it’s a no on Geoffrey?”

“Agreed. Suggest something else,” Stephen said. “I mean, would you suggest something else?” He looked awkward again.

“Archibald?” Darcy said.

“Must they all be so...public school?” he said, looking pained.

“Did you actually go to one of those places,” Darcy said, “because I’ve always thought they were bizarre--?”

“Yes,” he said, sighing. “And they are bizarre. I knew several Archibalds and all of them were, uh--”

“Complete asshats?” she said, guessing wildly.

“Yes,” he said.

“Where are they now?” Darcy wondered.

“One is a barrister, the other is the Earl of Wolverhampton,” he said.

“Ohhhhh, weird,” Darcy said. “Archibald the Earl!”

“You know two princes of Asgard,” he said.

“Also weird, but with more gold stuff. Thor has a gold toothbrush. I bet not even the Queen has that,” Darcy said.

“We haven’t met,” Stephen said, grinning. 

“She’d probably love your man bling, don’t all those royal guys have their man bling?” she sassed him.

“I believe those are medals of service,” he said. 

“Medals of service, pfffhhht,” she said back. “They’re dude jewelry. I can say that because I’m an American and we had a revolution to end powdered wigs and stuff like that--”

“Now you’re just gloating,” he said. 

“Okay, fine. Names other than Archibald or Geoffrey,” Darcy mused. “Tony?”

“No,” he said.

“No?”

“One Tony is enough,” he said. “Stark would think the cloak is named for him.”

“Because that’s who I was thinking of!” Darcy said mirthfully. Strange’s face did several things, equally horrified. 

“He is not my Awesome Facial Hair Bro, no matter what he tells you.”

“Uh-huh,” she said.

“ I have no idea where he gets such ideas,” he said, patting his goatee.

“Oh, Stephen,” Darcy said, trying to sound like a melodramatic old movie star. “If you never have any crazy ideas, how shall you ever have any fun whatsoever?”

“I’m having fun now,” he said, smiling almost gently.

“Oh, that’s sad, that’s really sad. Trapped inside and zoom calling a pr--an assistant?” Darcy said. She’d almost said pregnant lady.

“I get out,” he said. “Last week I got called to Boston for a mystical object--

“Oh my God, you’re gloating,” she said. “Wait, can you travel through time and tell me who those guys were who robbed the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum dressed as cops?” 

“Uhhh---” Stephen said.

“I want them to be the mob,” Darcy said. “What if we name the cloak Mickey? Or Tommy?”

“Mickey?” he said.

“I was thinking of the Irish mob,” she said jokingly. “In Boston, the mob was Irish, right?”

“How--how--” he said, as the cloak tapped his shoulder-- “wait, I think he likes one of those?”

“Tommy?” she said, leaning towards the screen.

“I believe it’s Mickey,” he said.

“Oh, it’s perfect! Like the song from the 80s,” she said. “Mickey for the win!” She mock high-fived her laptop and grinned slyly. “You’re old enough to remember that song, Steve.”

“Ah,” he said, putting his wavering hand back down. “Yes, I remember the song.” Darcy smiled brightly.

“You have a theme song!” Darcy told the cloak.


	4. Calamity Darcy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Ugh,” Darcy said. In her seventh month of pregnancy, her primary feelings were nausea and sciatica. Sciatica was a big ol’ b, she reflected, rubbing her low back sadly.

“Why don’t you do some prenatal yoga?” Jane said, engrossed in a scientific paper. She rubbed her nose, leaving behind a smudge of blue ink.

“Why don’t you do some prenatal yoga?” Darcy mimicked sarcastically.

“Someone’s grumpy,” Jane said.

“Fine, I’ll get my mat,” Darcy huffed, getting up to get her mat out of her bedroom closet. “But you were quaran-mean the other day!” she called back. _Quaran-mean_ was their term for isolation-induced bitchiness. Darcy had caught Jane arguing with randos pretending to be scientists on Twitter. 

“Only to trolls,” Jane said. She lowered her voice. “Anti-science schmucks.” She was still muttering when Darcy returned and rolled out her mat. She had a Shiva Rea DVD. Jane looked up when she started it. “It has modifications, right?”

“Yup,” Darcy said. “Different levels of preggo lady.” She snorted and then laughed. “I follow that preggo lady,” she said, pointing to one instructor behind Shiva. “Did you want to do preggo yoga with me?”

“Nope,” Jane said. “I’m going to go read in my room.”

“You’re going to argue with random people online, aren’t you?” Darcy said.

“Don’t forget your phone call with Strange,” Jane said, dodging the question.

“Just because someone is wrong on the internet, you don’t have to tell them,” Darcy said.

* * *

Darcy was struggling through a modified pose on the floor when her laptop started to ding. Strange was calling early. They’d enabled it so he could ring in. “Shit,” Darcy said, trying to untangle her limbs from the towel, elastic band and blanket she was using for extra support and modification.

“Darcy?” she heard him said tinnily.

“I’ll be right there!” she yelled. She attempted to get up, but couldn’t and slumped back onto her knees on the floor in frustration. Her belly was too freaking big. “Umfphhh,” Darcy said.

“Are you all right?” Strange called out. “Do you need assistance?”

“No, no,” Darcy said, deciding it was smarter to crawl across the floor and then use her couch as leverage. “I’m okay, I’m okay--owwww,” she said, as she thwacked her ankle on the coffee table.

“You’re hurt,” she heard Strange say.

“No, I’m just really, really huge,” Darcy huffed, clamoring awkwardly onto the couch. The laptop was on the end table, facing away from her. “I was doing yoga and I couldn’t get up and I hit my ankle on the freaking coffee table,” she rambled, turning the screen around. “I’m a little out of shape--” she added, straightening her glasses.

“I’m sure you’re not,” Stephen said, looking alarmed and confused. 

“Annnnd I’m sweating,” Darcy said, yanking down her loose-fitting shirt from where it had ridden up over her tummy. Unfortunately, these were her workout clothes. She’d cut out the neck and sleeves of an old sweatshirt, which meant she was giving Stephen Strange an ample view of her sports bra. She angled up the screen quickly, so he wouldn’t see, but his eyes had gone wide. Had he seen her belly?

“Uh--uh,” he stuttered. She waited for him to say something. He swallowed. His cheeks were pink. “I’m--I’m quite sure you’re not fat,” he stammered. She snorted. Then had a thought.

“Are you blushing?” Darcy said, seized by an impulse for wickedness. “Why are you blushing?” she asked. A good offense, right?

“Well, uh, your sports bra is….very fetching?” he offered. Her eyebrows went up.

“You’re blushing at my boobs?” Darcy said. “You’re a doctor!”

“Uh, I don’t understand the inference,” he stammered, blushing furiously.

“You've seen all kinds of boobs?” Darcy said.

“Please stop saying that--that word,” he said. Darcy tilted her head and grinned.

“What about breasts? Is that more clinical?” she mused. 

“Oh God,” he said, covering his face. 

“I can’t believe you’re blushing,” she repeated. His face--between his fingers--was visibly red. “I mean, they’re boobs. You gotta have seen some in the OR, right?”

“Not in this context,” he said in a strangled voice. 

“How’s Mickey?” she said, deciding to take pity on him and change the subject.

“The cloak is fine,” he said, looking away and clearing his throat. “This is dreadfully embarrassing.”

“Oh c’mon,” Darcy said. “I’ve embarrassed myself in front of you. I just crawled across the floor because I couldn’t get up. I’m that commercial with the old lady. I need one of those bracelets.”

“Bracelets?” he said.

 _“Help, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up?”_ she parroted. “Or maybe they’re necklaces? Are they necklaces?”

“Oh,” he said. “I’m afraid I don’t know.” He gave her a tiny smile. 

“The tips of your ears are red,” Darcy said, grinning. “It’s going to be so funny if we ever meet each other later, once this is over.”

“Ah,” Stephen said. “Yes.” He looked nervous. “About that--” he began, then stopped. For a second. Darcy thought the screen had frozen.

“You’re going to run in the other direction?” she joked, before he cut in.

“I thought we might have dinner?” he said. “Just to see each other?”

“Oh,” Darcy said, surprised. “I’m sure we could,” she added, nervously thinking of Jane. Jane would not want to have dinner with Strange. She might be snarky. Darcy could imagine a very awkward three person dinner. Or three and a half, if she brought the baby. She couldn’t imagine Stephen in a baby-friendly restaurant. He looked more cloth napkins than crayon packet. 

“That--that would be lovely,” Strange said, looking all pink again. When he spoke, it was in a smoother voice. “I look forward to it, Darcy.” 

“You sounded very audiobook just then,” Darcy told him. She’d gotten to the point where she could tease him about his posh accent. 

“A good one, I hope,” he said.

“Oh my God, you’re doing that voice on purpose now,” Darcy said, laughing.

“Possibly,” he said.

“Are they letting you work in the hospital again?” she asked. When they’d last talked, he was petitioning for the return of his medical privileges on an emergency basis, so he could volunteer. 

“I’m afraid not,” he said, frowning. “I’ve written a letter to the medical board, the governor, it’s all very frustrating.” He waved his hand. “It’s obvious my hands are fine for this kind of work, but my records speak against me.”

“I’m sorry,” Darcy said, feeling sympathetic. 

“That’s very kind of you,” he said, glancing at her tentatively through the camera lens. “I still have lessons to learn, apparently.”

“What does that mean?” Darcy said, frowning.

“The car crash that injured my hands was completely my own fault,” he said, “negligence and arrogance on my part.”

“Oh,” she said.

“I shouldn’t forget that, that you can’t just escape the consequences of your actions,” he said quietly.

“Stephen, are you shame spiraling?” she said. “Because I will teach Mickey to play pranks if you don’t cheer up.” He looked up.

“Please don’t,” Stephen said. “The very thought fills me with horror.” 

“I need at least one big smile,” Darcy said.

“Like so?” he said, doing a frankly alarming smile.

“Okay, less of that. You look like a cartoon shark,” she said. In response, he burst out laughing, then mimed chomping his teeth. Darcy started to laugh--and then she accidentally farted. Audibly. One of her pregnancy things. Stephen looked at her. He knew, she realized, from the dawning delight on his face. “Oh God,” she said, grabbing a pillow off the couch to hide behind.

“Was that what I think it was?” he said.

“You’re a doctor!” she said, mortified. Her voice was slightly muffled.

“You broke wind!” he said, cackling.

“Who even says that, Dame Judi Dench?” Darcy said. He was still laughing. “I’m buying Mickey a kazoo!” she yelled, lowering the pillow enough so she could peer at his face. “A kazoo--and a drum set! I will teach him to play chopsticks via Zoom,” she threatened. 

“Well, you’d need something to mask your noises,” Stephen said, in a deceptively mild voice. 

* * *

“What was all that laughing about?” Jane said. Darcy looked up and sighed heavily.

“I’m Calamity Darcy again,” she confided. That was their jokey nickname for Darcy’s tendency to get in accidents. Jane, too. They were a duo, Calamity Jane and Darcy.

“What happened?” Jane asked.

“I had to crawl across the floor because I couldn’t get up,” Darcy said. Jane nodded. “And then I farted on the call with Stephen.”

“Oh my God,” Jane said. “What did he say?”

“That he wants to take us to dinner when this is all over,” she told the scientist. 

“He wants to go to dinner with me?” Jane said.

“Yes,” Darcy said. “So, you have to prepare yourself, all right? No being mean.”

“What are you going to do to prepare?” Jane asked, grinning. “He probably likes nice restaurants. You’d make a real scene if you farted there.”

“Oh my God, I’m never going to live this down,” Darcy said.

“Nope.”

“Have you ever heard the phrase breaking wind?” Darcy asked.

“I’m not reading the new _Twilight_ book,” Jane said.


	5. There is That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Well, if someone could just get me a state health official,” Stephen Strange said in his frostiest, most posh voice, “I would no longer bother you. Mostly assuredly.” He was calling the governor’s office again. The man on the other end sighed and transferred him. The line rang and rang. Stephen sighed. He’d called everyone he could think of: the CEO of his previous hospital, his ex Christine, Tony Stark. No one was returning his calls. Everyone was busy. Except him. Stephen was frustrated. And bored. Also, he was afraid he was getting on Darcy’s nerves. They’d been talking every day for almost two months now. Watching movies at the same time, text messaging. It was like long-distance dating, really. He had less work to do: even criminals were less active now. But last night, she’d told him that she was too busy to talk--and she’d been oddly cryptic. He had overwhelmed her with attention and neediness, he thought glumly. “Another woman you’ve frightened away--” he said to himself, just as the health department’s voicemail picked up. “Ah,” he said, trying to cover and shift into professional mode. “This is Stephen Strange. Doctor Strange--” he began in his haughtiest, most officious voice. He’d practiced it with Darcy. She told him to imagine he was snotty aunt in _Pride and Prejudice._

When he hung up from what he thought was a far too rambling and distracted voicemail, the cloak tapped him on the shoulder. “Ah, yes, hello,” he said. The cloak gestured at the clock. “What?” Stephen said. The cloak swished impatiently. “I’m afraid I can’t understand you,” Stephen said, sighing. The cloak brought him his phone. “Thank you,” Stephen said absent-mindedly. It was a drizzly, miserable sort of day. Humid rain, he thought, looking at the nearest window in the Sanctum’s living room. He sat the phone on the end table. The cloak patted him gently on the shoulder. Stephen made a noncommittal noise. A moment later, the cloak prodded him more forcefully. “What are you doing?” he grumbled. “Stop that.” Mickey waved the phone under his nose. Stephen took it away and tucked it in a pocket of his pants. He was thinking and stirring his tea when the cloak shoved something heavy and solid against the back of his head. “Ow--what on the Earth?” Stephen said, realizing the cloak was towing his laptop through the air. “What you doing?” he said, baffled. The cloak deposited the laptop in his lap--almost knocking over his tea--over Stephen's protestations. “That is a very expensive green tea,” he scolded. The cloak ignored him and popped open the laptop, then punched his knee several times. “I have no idea what you want?” Stephen said. The cloak visibly poked the laptop screen. “What?” Stephen said. With seeming irriation, the cloak floated over to the window. There was enough condensation from the difference in inside and outside temperature for the cloak to smudge out a letter on the glass.

_D-A-R-C-Y_

Finally, it dawned on him that the cloak was trying to get him to contact Darcy. He usually started talking to her this time of day. “Oh. No,” Stephen said. “No, thank you, Mickey. We’re giving her space. She’s busy.” His voice was firm and decisive. Even the cloak looked a little droopy and depressed at his tone. He decided to get up and do something more productive. He would reorganize the artefacts. They needed greater cataloguing and sorting. He’d been telling Darcy about that last night---he needed to stop constantly thinking about Darcy, he reminded himself. “Out of sight, out of mind,” he said aloud. He really needed to remember his lessons from Kamar-Taj. And stop being clingy. Women didn’t like clingy, everyone said so. He went upstairs and decided to sort out the attic closet. He stepped inside---and was immediately thrown out again, landing with a thunk. “Ow,” Stephen said. “What was that for?” A suit of armor had punched him in the sternum. He could’ve sworn that the suit looked pleased. Stephen huffed out a sigh, stood, and went back in again. What ensued was a long, extremely drawn out battle with the contents of the closet. When Stephen subdued one magical object, another would launch an attack. The suit of armor gave him a bruised cheekbone, a Victorian-era dog statue bit his ankle, and a chess set flung it’s pieces at him in a veritable hailstorm of knights, rooks, and pawns. Because he wanted to win the trust of the objects, Stephen felt obligated to wrestle them with his own physical strength, not his sling ring. That would be cheating. 

Several hours later, a dirty, tired, and very bruised Stephen went downstairs to have a drink. Opening a cabinet, he realized his bourbon was missing. “Mickey,” he muttered. The cloak tended to misplace things it believed to be a bad influence, like alcohol and the issue of _JAMA_ that he’d thrown across the room because a medical school rival had won a prestigious award. Stephen sighed. He needed something harder than tea, he thought, distractedly studying a takeout menu on the fridge. There was a voicemail waiting. His heart lept, assuming it was Darcy. It wasn’t. To his utter surprise, it was the governor’s office. 

“This is the governor’s assistant,” a voice said. “The governor wishes you to know that your hospital privileges are being fast-tracked and I quote, ‘because it is _stupid_ to have a qualified medical professional who can also do magic sitting at home during a pandemic.’ Ahem. So, your privileges should be reinstated soon. Thank you.”

“Well,” Stephen said. “There is that.”

* * *

“Are you feeling better?” Jane said, when Darcy shuffled out of the bathroom and sat down heavily. Darcy sighed.

“No,” she said, sounding petulant.

“Okay,” Jane said carefully. Darcy had been a little--just the tiniest bit--grumpy lately.

“I’m just so pregnant and it’s no fun to have diarrhea and nausea at the same time, okay?” Darcy said. She swigged from her water bottle. 

“Why don’t you call Stephen?” Jane offered tentatively. “You like calling Stephen?” Jane was fairly sure they were dating, even though neither of them knew it. She’d seen them watching _Water for Elephants_ together on the phone and that was definitely a date. They talked every day, too.

“I’m not calling Stephen,” Darcy said glumly. “I’m too pregnant to call Stephen.”

“All right,” Jane said carefully.

“Don’t take that tone with me,” Darcy said, huffing. 

“Why are you too pregnant?” Jane asked.

“Because, you can’t just surprise a man with an actual baby,” Darcy said. “He’ll think I’m weird. It’s too late now.” She shifted. “My back hurts and I’m going to stop talking to him anyway, I’ll be busy with Catherine soon.”

“You’re settled on Catherine?” Jane said. That was Darcy’s chosen baby name.

“It’s appropriate, it’s got good nickname potential, and it was a family name,” Darcy said. “My family, not Ian’s--the worthless, pasty twat.”

“Shit,” Jane mouthed grimly. She knew better than to mention Ian. _Mistake,_ her brain screamed. _Mistake!_

“I can’t believe he actually ran away from a Scottish process server and broke both his legs!” Darcy fumed. Ian had bolted---and then rolled down some stone steps in Edinburgh. At the moment, he was out of work. “Can you believe how unlucky the baby and me are? And don’t say the baby and I, you know that makes me--”

“I would never,” Jane vowed, swallowing. “Do--do you want a Pop Tart?”

“Yes,” Darcy said. She stood up slowly.

“I’ll get it, sit down,” Jane said, alarmed. This was not part of her ‘make Darcy calmer’ plan.

“No, I’ve gotta pee again, I’ll swing by the toaster after I pee,” Darcy said glumly. Jane listened to her go back to the bathroom. A few minutes later, she came slowly back into the room. “Ughhh,” Darcy said. “My back hurts so freaking much.”

“That’s two days in a row now, right?” Jane said.

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “That’s why I told Stephen I couldn’t talk, I had to go lie down.” She sighed audibly as she moved into the kitchen. “You want blueberry or raspberry?”

“Whatever you don’t want---or do want? Can I help?” Jane offered. 

“No,” Darcy said. Jane heard the toaster go down, then Darcy sighing again. A moment later, Darcy made a weird sound. “Darce?” Jane called.

“Jane!” she yelled. “I think my water broke!”

“Oh shit,” Jane said. She bolted up and found Darcy standing over a small puddle. “It broke,” Jane said.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said, wide-eyed. “It broke--and I feel--funny. Really funny.”

“Sit down,” Jane said, more calmly than she felt. “I’m calling an Uber and I’ll get your bag. We’ll get to the hospital.” She grabbed the delivery bag out of the closet and went back to Darcy. Darcy wasn’t in the chair. Jane freaked out a little. “Why are you standing by the door?” Jane said, panicking.

“I’m having this baby,” Darcy said. She was sort of leaning against the bookcase by the door. “I can tell.”

“Okay,” Jane said. “Let’s go. We’re going.” She put their masks on, shepherded Darcy out into the hall, locked the door, and got her on the elevator. Darcy was oddly calm, Jane thought. She was freaking out. Darcy huffed in and out, then groaned. 

“Oh--oh--oh,” she said. 

“How does it feel?” Jane said.

“We’re not going to be there in time. I’m having the baby _right now,”_ Darcy said. “I need---I need to lie down,” she told Jane, getting a death grip on Jane’s wrist.

“Okay, okay,” Jane said, wincing. The elevator door opened to the lobby level and she managed to detach a huffing Darcy from her wrists, steering her to a bench next to the elevators. One of their neighbors spotted them. 

“Dr. Foster?” he said, voice muffled by the mask he was wearing. His name was Tom.

“Hey, Tom!” Jane said. “Please call 911. She’s having the baby!”

“She’s having the baby?” he repeated, going pale.

“I’m having the baby right now,” Darcy said, making a wailing, groaning noise that Jane had only heard in nature documentaries. She lay down on the bench, breathing heavily. Jane was momentarily distracted by Tom’s panicked 911 call and another neighbor’s--Felipe--bringing her bottled water. 

“Thank you,” Jane said to him. 

“It will be all right,” Felipe said soothingly. He had four kids, Jane remembered. “The ambulance is coming.”

“Jane--” Darcy huffed, “Jane!”

“Yes?” Jane said. 

“Call Stephen,” Darcy said. “And get my pants--”

“Okay,” Jane said, already dialing. “Stephen, this is Jane,” she said. “Can you portal to my apartment? Darcy’s having a medical emergency and needs a doctor.”

“What?” he said. Jane rattled off the address.

“We’re in the lobby,” she said. She realized he hadn’t replied and was staring at the phone when Darcy pointed and huffed. Jane turned. Sparks were appearing a few feet away from them.

“Holy shit,” Tom said. Stephen stepped through the portal in smudged khakis and a dirty blue dress shirt. He was bruised.

“What’s going on?” he said. “Where is she?”

“You’re dirty!” Jane said, horrified. That was when he saw Darcy and went pale. 

“Darcy!” he said, kneeling down. A huffing Darcy looked at him grimly. 

“Wash your hands,” she said slowly. “I think the baby is out.” That was when Jane realized there was an oddly visible, well, _bundle_ in Darcy’s oversized maternity yoga pants. Jane hurriedly got her pants down while Felipe stood with his back to them, shielding Darcy from view. 

“Push,” Jane said. “She’s almost out.”

“Okay,” Darcy said, inhaling and exhaling. It took a few seconds.

“The baby is out,” Jane said. “Catherine’s here,” she added as the baby let out her first wail. “Look, sweetie, she’s here,” she told Darcy. Darcy huffed and reached for the baby.

“You’re pregnant?” Stephen said slowly, looking stunned.

“Not anymore,” Tom said.

“Someone needs to cut the umbilical cord,” Jane said, as Darcy talked softly to Catherine. 

“She’s okay, right?” Darcy said. 

“She looks fine--” Stephen said. “I’m going to wash my hands so I can examine her, okay?”

“Yes,” Jane said firmly. Darcy was beaming at Catherine. Jane could tell because of the way her eyes crinkled. Strange hurried off with Tom, then returned five minutes later, in clean clothes and evidently scrubbed.

“I’m clean,” he said.

“We sterilized my wife’s sewing scissors,” Tom said.

“Darcy,” Stephen said. “I’m going to cut her cord, okay?”

“Okay,” Darcy said. He’d done that carefully when the ambulance arrived, as well as two fire fighters. They loaded Darcy and the baby into the back.

“Who’s getting in?” one of the firefighters asked. “Hospital rules say one guest. You the father?” he asked Stephen.

“I’m the boyfriend,” Stephen said. “But Jane can take the ambulance and I’ll meet you at the hospital.” Darcy--on a stretcher in the back of the ambulance--looked at him. 

“You’re the boyfriend?” she said, smiling.

“Yes,” he said, helping Jane step in with the bag. “I’ll meet you there, all right?”

“Okay,” Darcy said. 

* * *

Darcy woke up in her hospital room. “Hello,” Stephen said. He was sitting next to her in a white coat. He looked very handsome, she thought.

“Hey,” she said. “How’d you get in here? They made Jane leave because the delivery’s over.”

“I heard,” he said. “She terrified the day nurse.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said, grinning. “They gave us an extra thirty minutes.” He sighed.

“Technically, I’m abusing my newly restored privileges, but I wanted to see you before my first shift starts tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Darcy said, barely holding in her _oh no_. “You’ll be treating patients again?”

“Which means I’ll need to quarantine myself away from you and Catherine,” he said. “At least for awhile.” 

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said, heart sinking. Was he ghosting, she wondered?

“But I’ll talk to you every night,” he said. “I’ve already talked to a med school friend who is an OB-GYN in Pasadena, she’s sending me a list of books--”

“Really?” Darcy said, feeling something like hope. “You’re not angry that I didn’t tell you I was pregnant?”

“Uh, no,” he said. “Surprised, yes. Jane sent me a text explaining that the father’s not in the picture?” he said nervously. He was adjusting the odd-looking brass ring on his fingers.

“Definitely not,” Darcy said firmly. She looked at him. “You’re really not upset?” she said.

“Darcy, I have a home full of magical artefacts,” he said. “Babies are a pleasant surprise.” He sighed and touched the bruise at his temple. “It’s going to be difficult to baby proof,” he said ruefully. He smiled. “I like Catherine,” he said.

“Really?” Darcy said.

“It’s my mother’s name,” he said.

“It’s my aunt’s name,” Darcy said. They smiled at each other. He leaned down and gently kissed her forehead. 

* * *

“Please tell me the cloak is not smothering Cat,” Stephen said, peering into the screen and yawning. They were both pretty exhausted-looking, Darcy thought. She had dark circles and he had dark circles. On balance, she ate more Cheetos, but they had a lot in common.

“Mickey is swaddling and he is very good at it, she goes right to sleep,” Darcy said. “He is a wonderful baby-sitter.” Over her shoulder, the cloak was rocking the baby. The cloak had started to show up whenever Stephen worked, helping Darcy and Jane around the house.

“Good,” Stephen said.

“Don’t sound so skeptical,” Darcy said. When she looked back, Mickey waved.

“I’m just a little over-cautious, that’s all,” he said. Darcy snorted. “What?” Stephen said.

“You fell for a pregnant woman, over-cautious is not the term I’d use!” she teased.

“You underrate your charms,” he said, smiling gently. Behind him, someone walked into the break room. 

“Is that Darcy and the baby? Hi!” Christine said, leaning into frame. 

“Hi!” Darcy said. Darcy had gotten to know Stephen’s ex through videochat. She liked Christine--and Christine trolled Stephen relentlessly, so that was fun to watch.

“She’s getting so big!” she said.

“She’s in the 80th percentile for her age,” Stephen said proudly.

“She made a fist today,” Darcy said. “I think Jane taught her.”

“Excuse me,” a sleepy voice said from the couch, “I don’t punch, I slap!”

“That’s Dr. Jane Foster,” Stephen said to Christine.

“Thor’s girlfriend?” Christine mouthed to Darcy. Darcy nodded. “Wow,” Christine said. “Isn’t that wild?”

“My life has been wild since 2011, really,” Darcy said, yawning.

“She’s very blasé about it all now,” Stephen said, voice fond.

-The End-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Author's notes: Partially inspired by Seth Meyers' story of his wife having their baby in the lobby. And also the idea of Andrew Cuomo reacting to Dr. Strange not having hospital privileges.
> 
> I had such fun with this story! Thank you for the prompt, the comments, and the kudos!


End file.
